What a Horrible World
by Hisoku Izanaki
Summary: Ivan felt the presence of her hand near his cheek, he paused and waited for her response. His fingers gripped his clothing as his eyes narrowed to look completely down. He felt his heart almost burst in his chest, waiting for the next action. He pursed his lips as to also talk but no words came out, for the first time in his life; he is speechless.


Song recommendation while reading this: Fix You by Coldplay

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It was a snowy day in Moscow, kids were back from school and completing work. Parents doing their duties and everyone is relaxation. No sound was heard in the distance and today you relaxed. Today _he_ relaxed.

You could just stare at the fireplace, flickering in different patterns and let vodka contain your sorrows. But, in this anecdote, that wasn't about to happen. You're about to witness, to read the cesspool of emotions which revolve around two, very important people.

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Ivan opened the door slowly, motioning for Natalya to enter his house. He stepped to the side and nodded, "Ah, _privyet_ dear _sestra_. How have you been?" He said softly as he took note of her overall appearance, "I am hoping the journey here was not too troubling, I would not like to cause misfortune on you." He said as he saw her enter, "Would you like anything?" He said as he stepped further in his house, "Water (vodka), food, a blanket, perhaps?" He said softly and calmly, he tugged at his scarf to loosen it.

The Belorussian looked up at her brother as he opened the door, fighting back a smile. "_Privyet_." she murmured before glancing down at her dirty shoes. Clearing her throat, she tried to wipe them clean from the mud on the door mat before entering the house. Natalya slipped her coat off, sighed and then spoke in a low voice: "I wouldn't say no to a glass of water."

A nod was given in return and Ivan closed the door behind her, he motioned to the shoe rack, "Your shoes." And then to a closet which is deeper inside the house, "Your coats and such." He began walking to the living room, "I will get the water." He said calmly and headed towards the kitchen, the man took two bottles sure that Natalya drank straight from the bottle, if not, he could simply get a glass— or to his hidden displeasure— shots. He returned and set the bottles on the coffee table in his living room. He adjusted the temperatures on his fireplace with a switch located above the fireplace, he felt the sides of the fireplace and gave a nod as he found a satisfying temperature. He always preferred the soothing heat and light from the fireplace apposed to turning on the lights.

Natalya nodded back, taking off her shoes and carefully placing them on the shoe rack. She replaced a piece of hair behind her ear and silently made her way to the closet, hanging her coat and putting her gloves on a shelf before walking back to the living room. Glancing at the bottles on the table and then at her older brother, she stood there for a moment, simply staring at him as he adjusted the temperature, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to warm them up even though the room was heated, not really thinking about her gesture, it was just some kind of habit that she had developed through years and years of cold winters.

Ivan turned around and noticed her staring, he finally noticed that he rudely left her waiting. "I must apologize; for the wait." He gestured for her to sit on her desired seat, he decided to sit on a love-seat, himself. "You may sit anywhere." The Russian stood up and gave a bottle, "If I am correct, you drink straight from the bottle, _da_?" He asked, sure that she did. He took his own bottle and effortlessly opened the bottle, taking a sip of the bitter yet enjoyable vodka. He stared at the fire for a second. "How have you been? We have not seen each other in a painfully long time." The man took another sip of vodka and awaited her

She sat down, still silent and took the bottle in her hands, humming in response. "Thank you, Vanya." Her fingers curled around the neck of the bottle, enjoying the cold, numbing sensation of the glass against her skin. She watched him as he drank and calmly replied: "I'm fine, thank you for asking," Natalya paused, lifting the bottle to her lips. "I've been quite busy lately. It's good to see you, brother. " The familiar burn of the alcohol down her throat made her wince slightly. She put the bottle at her feet, resting her hands in her lap. "Did you miss me, brother? " Her tone was distant but her gaze was insistent.

Ivan nodded, slightly, having already finished a quarter of his bottle. He shuffled his feet slightly and re-adjusted his posture. "It is nice to see you, too, and, of course, I did miss you. My family is very dear to me." He finished with a sip, "And I treasure everyone in it. Even if I am seemingly the second youngest. Of course, I have a very stubborn habit of not believing that; despite how truthful it may seem." He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his leg, he did a slight gesture, "And you? Have you missed me— as ridiculous as the question is because surely you felt something, at least I hope—?"

Her breath hitched as she took the bottle back in her hands, her grip tightening around it. "Of course, family... " Her voice broke down as she said the last word and she instantly looked down at her feet. Hopelessly trying to identify the painful emotion that took over her— something between anger, confusion and desperateness— the blonde girl took another sip from the bottle. Glancing back up at Ivan, her lips curled into an obviously fake smile. "Yes. I missed you, Vanya." As she spoke, her hands still wrapped around the bottle, Natalya hoped the emotion wasn't noticeable in her voice.

The Russian stared at her in concern, he noticed the change of pitch and emotion in her voice. He raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of attitude, he moved a bit more forward on his seat. "Is something wrong?" The Russian stared at her vodka bottle, gripped tightly in her hand. "Is the vodka not to your liking?" He asked curiously, he was sure he has the finest vodka people could get and would be quite upset with himself if she didn't recuperate the same feelings for the vodka. "Have you caught a flu?" He asked in a little more concerned tone, he valued her tone but also knew she could resist the cold, harsh virus' launched into the _damned_ world.

And she shook her head. "No, no. Don't worry. " Still smiling, she absent-mindedly turned the vodka bottle in her hands. She was sure that if she wasn't holding the object, her hands would be shaking. She hated it when she couldn't hold back emotions, it made her feel weak. And whenever she was around her brother, she felt horribly weak. And she hated that. Taking a deep breath, she asked, struggling to make her voice seem calm: "How are you, Vanya?"

Ivan swallowed a bit, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I am doing well, yet, I am slightly concerned for your health." He gestured to her vodka bottle, "Should I take it away and store it for another time?" He said as he slowly began approaching her, coming closer to her with each and every step. "You should not feel the need to hide anything from me.." He murmured as he now is in front of her, reaching for the bottle.

Natalya suddenly looked up at him, slowly shaking her head. "No, Ivan. I'm okay." She assured and tried to lift the bottle to her lips once more in a clumsy gesture, and in her hurry, the bottle slipped from her grip, landing on the floor with a loud thump, emptying half its content on her clothes and the rest pooling at her feet, staining the carpet. Her eyes widened for a second, examining her brother's face as she held her breath

Ivan looked down at the mess, doing a mental reminder as to clean it up. He really didn't like messes and spilling— but the could make a few exceptions. He kneeled down in front of her, knowing his pants would get stained with the spilt vodka. He cocked an eyebrow, "What is wrong? Something is surely wrong." He said in a more worried voice, "And you simply must tell me. You've been acting so.. nervous for the past few moments." His violet eyes locked onto hers, "What is causing this behaviour?"

The Belorussian stared, choosing her words. "Ivan... I'm okay. " She repeated, her voice trembling with contained emotion. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "Nothing is wrong. Don't worry, brother. " Swallowing difficultly, she glanced down at the mess she had caused. "I'm sorry. I'll clean this. " She murmured but didn't move, and after a moment, she lifted her other hand, resting it on his shoulder.

Ivan stood up straight, careful as to keep the hand on his shoulder. He extended his own and took her free one, "Do not worry about the mess, you seem stressed; I will carry you to the bed." He said in assurance and knelt down a little so she could stand up and he carry her. "You should not feel compelled as to work and clean, for I can handle those jobs. You seem distressed and I value your health more. And I always will."

Her hands desperately brung themselves to her face, exhaling slowly I'm not stressed, really, I'm perfectly okay. " Her face still covered, she bit back a sob. I— I don't need to go to bed, Vanya. I just want to stay here. I'm okay." She repeated the last part again, the phrase sounding like she was trying to convince her self more than anything.

Ivan took her hands off her face, his hand reached and gently held her chin. "You are tired and distressed and I detest seeing you in this condition." He said in a soft and soothing voice, "Let me carry you to sleep, it will help, I guarantee." He said calmly. He moved closer towards her and snaked a hand around her back, he used it to push her forward and let her lean into his chest. "Do not feel compelled to hold a single emotion back."

"I don't want to sleep... " She breathed out, shivering slightly as he held her chin. Closing her eyes tightly, Natalya wrapped an arm around her brother's neck, pulling herself closer to him. She wasn't going to cry. Not in front of him. Never. Her cold, stained clothes were uncomfortably sticking to her skin, and for a moment, she simply wanted to find another bottle and drink everything away. This alternative seemed much more simple but the warmth of Ivan's chest against her cheeks reminded her that maybe this time, it wouldn't be that simple.

His hands pet her back slowly and soothingly. "Perhaps not rest, perhaps just laying down.." He trailed off and used his hands to slide under her legs behind her knees, using most strength; he stood up and picked her up, as well. He changed the way he held her so he had two arms supporting her knees and slid them up so he could have a more stable hold on her. "You seem so sad, so agitated and I feel so weak, not being able to do anything about it." The Russian man used one of hands and started petting her back.

"It's not your fault... "

She murmured, difficultly swallowing back tears and slowly shaking her head. Natasha looked up at him. " I— I don't want to rest or anything. It's— don't worry, Vanya. I'm fine. I just need a cigarette... or something to drink... A glass... or maybe two." She trailed off, digging her nails in her palm and blinking a few times, desperately trying not to cry. She hated feeling this weak and she hated feeling dependent of others but, with her brother, it was different and she hated how she couldn't control herself in front of him.

Ivan shook his head, rather stubbornly. "You're going to cry and I refuse to let you feel pain." He used his free hand to move up her back and push her head to rest on his shoulder. "Just let it all out.." He whispered, "You do not need to swallow these feelings." He began walking, it wasn't much of an effort, though. He could easily support the Belorussian and begin climbing the steps. He was almost at a loss for words; Ivan never knew how to comfort. So when he saw his sister cracking; he also felt desperate. '_Wasn't Ukraine the one who put them to sleep at night? Wasn't she the one who whispered lullabies while he slept? When did the position switch around whereas he was the strong one? I am definitely the weak one.' _He thought sullenly to himself. The Russian finely reached the top of the stairs and nodded, "Would you like to lay down in my room?"

Natalya finally decided to _try _avoiding the situation. "No." She said in a firm voice. "I said no," she repeated, trying to pull her head back as he pushed her towards him. "I—I'm not going to lie down, I said I'm fine." She paused and sucked in a deep breath. "I don't need your help, Vanya." She wiped her cheek as if to dry tears away even though she wasn't crying but she could clearly feel the tears burning at the corner of her eyes and she definitely wasn't going to let him see her crying.

Ivan shook his head, once more. He loosened his grip and set her down. Staring with cold, piercing, violet eyes. "There are many things we do not need but want. Do you _want _my help?" Slowly were the words said as he stepped closer and let his head fall a little. "Or do you enjoy me feeling hopelessness?" The Russian took a swift step closer so her invaded her little bubble. His breath was a mixture of vodka with mint, the faint smell of cologne and aftershave also lingered around his body. "Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me," another whisper. He brought his hand up to force her to look at him. His eyes staring at her, not blinking at all as his face suddenly looked very mechanic.

She snarled without making a sound, lips curling up over her teeth. "I don't want your help. " She breathed out. And it was true. She didn't need or want his help. She wanted more. Natalya wanted him to be hers but also wanted to cry and forget, to drown her confusion in alcohol and to leave behind a past that still seemed way too close yet incredibly far. She didn't react when he moved closer and after a few seconds, simply closed her eyes tightly, calmly repeating, "I don't need help." And again, she was trying to convince herself and the disgusting feeling of confusion and anger turning her stomach just made her feel worse.

Ivan tilted his head as saw her closing eyes. His grip in her face loosened to the extent of his arm just falling by his side. _"And why not?" _The Russian asked coldly. Such a level of comfort and caring has never been showed by the man. He had never cradled someone in his arms and spoke a soothing lullaby. He simply just stood by and watched, but in this case, there's no one. No one to soothe anyone here. Just the cold hearts of Natalya and Ivan, clashing against each other relentlessly. This argument is bound to leave scars, physically or mentally. Ivan let emotion take over his eyes, hopelessness. _"How do you stop the tears?_" He asked, very softly, his own eyes watering somewhat. "Or is pain what we run to?" He wished his older sister was suddenly here, soothing both of them and healing the commotion of emotions, he wished that, maybe, he wasn't alone. But, the wishes died down. '_This isn't a time for pity. It is time to unravel feelings, painfully or not.' _Balled hands motivated a strong gaze and a small strike of hope in his eyes.

And she attempted not to move, his words reaching her ears but seeming distant, and after a few moments, finally grasping their meaning. She tried to recall how she ended up in such a situation. Opening her eyes, she parted her lips as if to answer her brother but closed her mouth right after and repeated the gesture a few times, frowning slightly. She lifted her arm slowly, moving it closer to him. She didn't understand why she was doing that but she felt like she needed to prove to herself that this wasn't just a strange and painful nightmare. She stopped her hand as her fingers were nearly touching his cheek. What if it wasn't a dream. She was scared. Scared to know. Scared of what would happen if she wasn't dreaming. Scared to wake up and scared of herself. But not scared of him.

Ivan felt the presence of her hand near his cheek, he paused and waited for her response. His fingers gripped his clothing as his eyes narrowed to look completely down. He felt his heart almost burst in his chest, waiting for the next action. He pursed his lips as to also talk but no words came out, for the first time in his life; he is speechless. The Russian exhaled slowly, almost as if he's going to cry but instead inhales, exhaled and the pattern continued. Short and shaky breaths becoming released by the man. He kept the steady pace as the world stood still. Not the good still but the bad. Like you're trapped in a void, with no answers as to what to do and only can stand still. You can't scream for help, you can't cry; you can only stand still and stare. And stood still is what he did, waiting for the next actions influenced by the cruel universe hitting you at full speed.

The woman, or perhaps _girl_, took a deep breath and lowered her hand. "I— I'm going to go." She murmured in a weak voice and tried to take a step back. She looked down at her clothes, avoiding his gaze and gathered her soaked skirt in front of her, turning her head away. I'm a coward. It was stupid. Where was she going to go? Trying to escape from this nightmare was impossible and she knew it. She also knew that she was dangerously close to breaking down in tears and Natalya was more than determined to never let her brother see her cry. But she couldn't look at him anymore. A painful feeling of nausea washed over her, and the Belorussian was sure it wasn't because of the smell of the alcohol.

Ivan stepped forward and grabbed her hand to protest. "Why? What has provoked you leaving?" He asked and kept a good grip on her wrist, his fingers curled around it. He felt even worse, but, is determined to make her speak and vent until she feels satisfied. He stared her in the eyes, wishing he could see into her mind. "I used to be satisfied in just glancing at your face but now it seems I wish to see into your thoughts." Eyes shifted around to examine her facial expressions, "Never has pain been so clearly etched on your face." Ivan murmured as he finally stared at her straight in the eye. "And never have I been so determined to figure one's emotions out. 'Nosy' as one would say but caring another would."

She stared at him for a moment, in a daze and then wincing. It was his grip around her wrist; it didn't hurt; but reminded her that escape is ultimately futile. And she hated that. Natalya always considered herself a fighter, using sharpened knives to enforce herself. But the knives she had were her words, which had become dulled by the possible chance of words. "That— what?!" She snapped, "What rubbish are you talking of?!" What a horrible response, but she has already been doing horrible. Flatting her skirt down, her hands just clutched on the fabric, hoping she could tear it. But, it didn't.

And on that note, a lot of things that should've happened, didn't.

Ivan sighed, staring a bit more before breaking his grip and eyes from her. "Forgive, it seems as the condescending people I have met.. have.. And now I cannot bring up any excuse. Let us both assume the vodka was off, agreed..?" He turned, walking away, but he didn't know where. "And stay, in the guest room; I would prefer it. The closet right at the end of the hallways has some of your dresses. Which you left, and I— I also apologize for this— didn't _want_ to _bring back_." His fingers curled and ripped at his palm, ripping off thin layers of skin. "I also will proceed to my room after going back downstairs and tend to needs. Simple needs."

And he left.

"You do not need to justify yourself, dear.. Vanya." She whispered.

And that was the last word spoken for the day.

Because the next day was only filled with Ivan alone in his house, peering at a letter, neatly folded.

_Not all love needs to be justified. Not the twisted, airy, love, that we hold._

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(A/N)

And that's a wrap! How did you feel about it? Does my writing have holes? Anyways, _Hetalia_ doesn't belong to me, it goes to its rightfully owners.

Review?  
(Feel free to point out errors.)


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